surface tension
by thir13enth
Summary: Drabbles; I know we're years apart, and I know it's completely unheard of and forbidden, but I just want to give everything to you. Master and student, Hotaru/Utakata, Six-Tails
1. Shatter

**So I recently rewatched the Six-Tail arc that Shippuden had, only because Utakata is admittedly a pretty cool guy and deserves a few more fanfictions. I'm not totally in love with Hotaru, but she's a playable character that's so loyal to him that I can't ****_not _****have at least minutely thought of them as a pairing at some point during the filler.**

**Needless to say, with the addition of espresso-filled tiramisu, I ended up rolling around in bed at ungodly hours of the morning streaming through one idea after the other.**

**This collection will be the product of my sleepless thrashing that night.**

**Anyway…enjoy!**

* * *

**Shatter**

Utakata was a simple man and didn't need much in his life beyond fresh air, the happiness of his student, and a good nap. And needless to say, he wasn't pleased when all three were disrupted.

He could smell the salt from her tears—it awakened him from his daytime slumber, the sound of her breathing, heavy not from her training but heavy from her heart. His honey golden eyes snapped open, nimble self immediately crouching by her kneeling body.

"Hotaru?" he asked simply, as always a man cheap with words.

Said girl was sitting on her splayed knees, face down toward the lush grass that one of her hands had ripped off the ground, green blades of confetti sprinkled over one of her fair thighs.

He waited for her to speak, refraining from asking her what was wrong in words aloud.

These days, she knew he had ears for only her.

"Shishou, for so long, I've been trying to figure out my feelings for you," she said suddenly, half in a hushed whimper, frightened that the words were spilling out of her without censor.

He knew he wasn't going to be looking forward to what she had to say, but not even his nomadic nature could lift his feet from the ground. He was still as the mountain where they had first met, eye contact as rigid on her aquamarine irises as the amber of his own.

"I've toyed with all the scenarios already," she continued, frail voice strong.

"I love you as my sensei, my master; you've taught me everything that I know. But that wouldn't do because you've done more than just spread your wisdom.

"I love you as a father; you've created and inspired who I am to this day. I love you as a brother; your guidance and care has supported me through all the hard times I've experienced.

"But loving you as either is irrelevant—if I loved you as family, then I wouldn't feel so ashamed of my feelings for you."

Her hands were clenched together at her lap, shoulders caved in, eyes squeezed shut before she concluded:

"I love you in so many ways that I can't sort myself out!"

He didn't know what to respond to this.

"I know we're years apart," she admitted to him, but still wrapped in her emotions and unheeding to the difference.

Eight to be exact, he calculated quickly. Last he heard she was just turning 19, and he was well on his way to 27…or maybe 28?—he barely remembered.

"And I know that it's completely unheard of and forbidden…"

He wouldn't allow it anyway, he thought to himself.

"But I just…I just want to give_ everything_ to you, shishou!"

And here her striking green-blue—kami, he could never figure out exactly what color—eyes fixated directly on him. He could see his own adored reflection in the deep ocean pools, noticing the ripe blush of her sakura cheeks, the purse of her fully developed lips, and the light angle of her upward-tilted and beckoning jaw.

She seemed to be opening herself to receiving, but at the end, she was the one that initiated; her tender hand smoothing the black bangs from the shaded side of his face, and her lips leaning in to crush against his.

Even while holding him under closed eyes, she knew his expressionless golden eyes were not shut.

She chose to ignore this and pressed in the remainder of her passion before reminding herself that she had to take breath.

"I-is that…okay with you?" asked she, hovering over his mouth, upon falling backwards from a kiss she had wished much too long on the stars for.

She could tell he was holding back his stuttering tongue, and she could feel a small breeze lift over her eyelashes as he slowly withdrew.

"Give me a moment," he replied finally, after many beats.

But the moment was an eternity, and the answer never came.

Hotaru had heard once that a man chose a weapon that was like himself, and she could see no better example of the truth of that old proverb than here.

He was just like the bubble at the end of his pipe, drifting away on the inexplicable whims of the wind.

She'd reach out to him—

But he would collapse right at even the gentlest caress of her fingertips.

* * *

**Hm…had some experimental writing moments there…anywho, whatcha guys think?**

**thir13enth**


	2. Bathtime

**Drabble drabble drabble!**

* * *

**Bathtime**

Sinking herself into the warm tub, she sighed silently when the heat smoothed out her cramping muscles and shivered into the water to make herself comfortable.

It had been a while since they had actually been able to stop at a decently well-furnished inn. Traveling through the Wave Country was actually much harder than she would have liked it to be, and for most of the nights, the master and student found themselves sleeping under the stars.

Of course, Utakata-sama didn't care for living with modern conveniences and had no complaint for it, but after a long while, Hotaru grimaced with each passing day they resorted to resting their head on grass, which was often rough and free to roam in for small itch-causing insects.

Rubbing some soap over her arms, she was surprised to find that she actually missed the chemical feel of the lather on her skin—there was just something lacking about hard water that didn't make her feel completely clean, something she discovered through the weeks of traveling.

Dunking the slippery arm into the bath and moving on to her opposite arm, she spotted a stray soap bubble stranded at the corner of the tub. Not thinking very much of it at first, she continued to soap the rest of her body until realizing that other bubbles had floated over to that corner, beginning to create a colony at the edge of porcelain by her left foot.

It never occurred to her until that moment that bubbles looked the same, no matter what situation.

Any combination of soap and water would result in a fragile prison of air, swirls of light averting into rainbow waves on its surface.

She rose slightly, sitting up, feeling her now dampened hair fall heavily to her bared shoulders. Taking a drop of soap between her two palms and massaging it together, she watched the friction of her movements create small pockets of bubbles between her fingers. Holding out one hand into the air, she made a circle out of her fist, a soapy film stretching over her rounded fingers and thumb.

Her marine eyes watched the clear sheet glitter in the light for a moment before she puckered her lips and gave out a small puff of air into her hand. A proto-bubble flopped through the film but quickly bounced back—she hadn't given out enough air to let it take flight.

So she tried again, more direct with her efforts. Slowly a rather large ball of soap lifted from the other end of her fist and wafted into the steam-filled air.

She pondered for a moment and then repeated the same motion with her other lathered hand, this time creating two smaller bubbles out of a single breath.

The three of them popped, and she scooped a bit more soap to recycle the process, turning bubble-making into a zen-like meditation.

A bubble that was just about to lift from her hand decided instead to stick to her pinky and she stretched her hand out wide, palm up to study the clingy creation.

It was a half bubble, the crescent that wasn't film, her fair hand. She whistled at it gently, letting the surface waver, threatening to pop.

A strong knock at the wooden door startled both her and the bubble.

"Hotaru," called her sensei's firm voice. "What's taking you so long? We have to go soon."

She shook her head to herself—not wanting to escape this simple luxury of life.

"Making bubbles," she chirped, and then blew the clear pearl off her hand to watch it wobble into the air.

Exasperated—she could hear the groan in his voice—he murmured, "What am I going to do with you?"

She didn't hesitate to answer.

"Join me."

* * *

**;)**

**Well okay, I thought it was going to be a drabble—ended up being a bit more than that, lol.**

**thir13enth**


	3. Stealing Kisses

**Maybe I'm just really in love with this Utakata character, but to be honest, he was one of the more impressive side-story characters and most certainly made for one of the better filler arcs, rather than the cheap replays/flashback arcs.**

**I think he should have gotten a longer battle when he was fighting against Pein though—I mean, damn, I never knew bubbles were that fatal until seeing that man battle it out with a soapy pipe.**

**Never again will I ever see blowing bubbles as immature.**

* * *

**Stealing Kisses**

It intrigued Hotaru that her sensei wielded one of the most innocuous looking objects as a weapon…

"A bubble blower? Is that really all you carry?" she had asked him.

He hadn't wasted the effort to actually do so, but she had been able to tell that he had given her a shrug. "It's all I need," he'd replied, in a casual drawl.

"Not even a sword?" she'd continued, swinging her hands back and forth while pretending to slash the air with a heavy two-handed blade, directing a fake blow towards her master.

Utakata had bitten back a rare smile and had played along with her swordplay, cutting his two hands up through her clasped hands, both of which had let go of the other under the strong force of his defensive block.

If her weapon had been real, the sword would have been knocked out of her grasp and clattering down to the ground. Having known this, she'd pouted and had crossed her arms together while he'd returned his hands to his waist.

"A true shinobi can make a weapon out of anything," he had concluded, as his lesson for the day.

Recalling this, she rolled her eyes in light frustration before returning her aquamarine gaze to the stars.

She still didn't understand why he chose the damn pipe over everything else he could utilize—it just didn't seem like practical sense to her. Why was he limiting himself to pockets of air?

_If sensei could do so much with bubbles, then what more could he do with something more powerful?_

And soon, in the midst of all the training with him, she found herself wanting to have her own special weapon—taking after her sensei, of course, she wished to learn bubble techniques…

"Neh, sensei!" she had nagged him, skipping over to close the distance them as they had walked through the dense forest. "I've gotten so far training with you—isn't it time for you to teach me some other tricks?"

"What do you mean?" he had asked, without even a moment after her request.

"Well…" Hotaru had begun. "You've only taught me to use my own hands, feet, and the water around me so far…"

The young sensei had been wise enough to know that she had trailed off intentionally and had looked back at her sheepish face, his golden glare letting her know that he wasn't going to participate in her manipulation to get what she had wanted.

"I was thinking that maybe …maybe you could teach me how to use more powerful techniques!" she had exclaimed. "I mean…I'm tired of all this basic stuff! I want to learn a strong jutsu!" She had, by then, caught up with her sensei, walking alongside him at his quick pace.

Without warning, he had shot out a few punches in her direction, which she had been by no means prepared for. She had defended herself as best as possible, throwing her forearms in front of her to guard herself.

His right fist had suddenly come forward from out of nowhere, aiming straight for her face.

She had panicked and gasped, positive that that was the end of her.

But her master had stopped his taijutsu right before it had blown her head in, and he had let her gaze at his knuckles before extending a finger and poking her forehead in a sort of wordless chide.

"You still have a long ways to go. You've barely passed your basics," he had concluded, continuing ahead of her at the same steady and agile pace he had been maintaining since the beginning of their travels. "Besides, a shinobi is never done training."

She sighed, upon remembering that moment as well, this time her eyes shifting over to the full and ripe white moon.

Hearing a rustle off her right, Hotaru snuck a look at her sleeping sensei.

But she had seen his closed eyes many times, and that wasn't what interested her the most at the moment; what took her attention were the pipe and the bamboo jug cast off to the side.

Opportunity struck, and she grabbed it quickly in her fingers, examining the bit of soapy water that she sloshed in the wooden container in the dark, some moonlight flickering off the wavering surface. In her other hand, she held the bubble blower at the middle, between her fingers in the same manner she had seen her shishou do before.

Well if he didn't let her try it out while he was awake…

She dipped the pipe into the jug a couple of times before raising it up to the sky and blowing into the mouthpiece.

Some water splattered out from the other end of the pipe.

Embarrassed—she messed up on blowing a simple bubble?—she whipped her head towards her sleeping master out of habit, but he wasn't awake to witness her failed bubble creation.

She tried again, this time her breath coming out in a softer puff.

A single moon-dazzled sphere wafted up into the air. Delighted, she followed it with her eyes, and for a moment, she could imagine it was her shishou's breath trapped within its sheer walls.

All at once when she realized this, heat rose to blush her cheeks and she bit back a girlish laugh—she was using _his _pipe!

Inadvertently she looked in his direction again, but of course, he was still sleeping!

She turned her lips back to the mouthpiece and blew another bubble, then another, giggling each time, knowing that his lips had touched the very same rim.

Hotaru wouldn't have stopped—she could have been entertained for another hour just blowing bubbles and laughing softly to herself, but she quickly realized that the level of the water had drastically fallen from when she first picked it up, hearing a clunk of the pipe against the bottom of the bamboo.

Nervously, she settled the two things back down on the spot of grass where they had been placed and controlled her tickled breath until she too fell asleep.

Awakening with the mid-morning sun the next day, she yelled out a cheerful good morning as always, catching him leaning against a nearby tree, absentmindedly blowing bubbles from his pipe.

"Ohay—" and she sputtered into the giggles that she had been holding back since the night before.

His thin eyebrows furrowed and he lifted his mouth from the pipe.

"What?"

But she couldn't answer, covering her mouth to contain the laughter and turning away to hide red cheeks.

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**:3 a particularly qt drabble, in my opinion. What do ****_you _****think?**

**thir13enth**


	4. Crushcrushcrush

**Ah well, I guess I can credit Paramore for the title of this one:**

* * *

**Crushcrushcrush**

He was always napping, like he had nothing else better to do while he was conscious but to knock himself back out of it.

She figured it must have been something that came out of his habit to wander—not having any attachments left him with nothing else but himself and his sleep, she guessed.

But it definitely frustrated her. While she was hard training and practicing, she was sure to always be working on her own, and he was sure to always be laying under a shady spot with his hands under his head and his head tilted back in a lazy daze.

It was always the same—he'd demonstrate a little something and she'd show her awe before he then demanded that she learn to do the same. And without another word, he would retire to a nap. She'd sweat until she got it down and then she'd wake him up to show him a replica of what he had showed her earlier that morning, or that week, depending on the complexity of the technique.

Hotaru knew better than to complain. After all, she had chosen that he be her master and thus she had chosen that she be taught in the way that suit her shishou.

However, after hearing much about a Pervy Sage from a friendly blond ninja way back when the Forbidden Jutsu was still clutching to her back, she knew that was more to a master-student relationship than what she was experiencing.

The kunoichi was eager for some hand-to-hand combat, any sort of direct interaction with her sensei as opposed to being left on her own with just her chakra for company.

She had already realized a long time ago that her wanting to have Utakata has her sensei wasn't about learning his techniques and in fact was really about how much she enjoyed spending time with him.

And now that she liberally had that time with him—the raven-haired shishou could find nothing better to do than to doze off, which needless to say, disappointed her very much.

The water whip that had been developing weakly in her right hand's grasp suddenly collapsed back into the stream as the curve of her lips turned crooked in a small pout.

"Well if I don't like the way that he's teaching me, I can go ahead and tell him what I feel," she muttered to herself.

Insisting stubbornly had worked before on him—for the longest time he refused to be addressed with even the slightest bit of a respectful title, let alone _shishou_. But he had eventually given in and allowed himself to take the position and responsibility of being Hotaru's sensei.

So perhaps if she started talking to him to revise his teaching methods now, he would soon heed to that request as well, right?

And so the slender girl made her way toward the grassy patch that her master had chosen to settle into slumber upon, slowly waltzing through the soft green carpet.

Normally whenever she was heading back to see his sleeping self, she was ecstatic to show him what she had figured out how to do on her own.

But this time, she had nothing to bring back to show him but a complaint, so her steps were quiet and his amber eyes didn't flicker open.

That was okay though—she had always thought him cutest when his intense golden gaze was shut beneath his fluttering eyelids.

Down at her knees, her face hovering over his unconscious face, she suddenly realized something as she couldn't help but smile at the tiniest drop of drool collecting at the corner of his slightly parted lips and the ever gravity-resistant short strand of hair at the back of his head that never combed out with the rest of the jet black locks:

She had a crush on him.

She had already admitted that she wasn't really begging for him to be her master so that she could become stronger—she could have asked just anyone else…

Was she really going to deny the simple fact to herself?

_I really do love him in that way, _she realized, as her eyes traced his handsome defined jaw that led to crook of his neck.

But what she hadn't realized was how light of a sleeper her sensei was.

And he awoke with a start, like he always did—but this time around her face was a lot closer than he had ever been expecting.

His breath caught in his throat, "What are you—"

She interrupted him, crushing their lips together.

* * *

**Well I guess I'm missing a third 'crush,' I only have two 'crush's up there when the title is Crushcrushcrush…meh, I'm reading too much into my own writing, strangely. Geez, remind me never to do that again.**

**And I have 'Stockholm Syndrome' by Muse playing on repeat in my head right now…**

**thir13enth**


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